memory scene

There is a field in my memory that looks down on a view so beautiful, it makes one weep to think of it. I am there now, gazing upon this vista, drinking it in.

The land below sweeps down to the sea in a rush of colour that only a summer in Ireland can create. Hues of green, of gold, crimsons, magentas, sapphire speckle before me. Waving barley fields bounded by blackberry laden bushes stretch beyond to the azure strip that is the Celtic sea. Fluffy white clouds drift lazily past on a kiss of breeze that ripples the water like a caress and flows through the barley like a mother gently smoothing her child’s hair.

The tang of the salt in this breeze tickles the senses and awakens me from my reverie. Curracloe falls before me, the pointing finger of forest & dunes that is Culleton’s gap stretches afar, into the distance. The north Slob on one side, the wide yellow strand on the other, lapped by the brine of the ancient water. Many childhood & adulthood days I have spent here, framed by laughter and lightness.

That is all I have now, memories of another land. A memory, my memories, fading as each day marches on into the future and then recedes into the shadows…much like the sun on it’s daily journey, a birth, a life, a death – the cycle turns & turns again.